


You’ll Come Back

by Val_Creative



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon - Book & TV Combination, Dad Lee Scoresby, Family, Family Reunions, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Humor, Identity Reveal, Mild Language, Reunions, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 02, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Lee and John make it safely to the ground from the balloon and to Lyra and Will for an emotional reunion.
Relationships: John Parry & Will Parry, John Parry/Lee Scoresby, Lyra Belacqua & Lee Scoresby, Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry
Comments: 49
Kudos: 262
Collections: John Parry and Lee Scoresby





	You’ll Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU KNOW,,,,, YOU KNOW. 🙃 Hello. This is all gonna be a lot of emotions. But good ones. I'm a book fan who loves the show too so I decided to mix a little of everything together. Please enjoy! I would love to hear any thoughts you had!💖✨

*

_"Durrn'it!"_

Lee aims a kick for one of the altimeter reading instruments. He swears loudly, kicking again and again, until it corrects itself. Something shudders loudly with a crank inside the balloon. Hester sighs, twitching her little arctic hare-nose.

John Parry — Jopari — Doctor Stanislaus Grumman, or whatever the hell he's calling himself now — glances up mindfully.

"Ah, there it is," John murmurs, eyes skyward.

Lee's teeth clench.

"You," Lee says warningly, lowering his telescope from his eye and jabbing a finger towards John. "You best keep it down, y'hear?" He stomps around the other side of the oversized wicker basket, outright ignoring John's faint amusement.

Sayan Kötör warbles inquisitively, her talons digging into the basket's rim.

"I suppose that is rather the point, isn't it?" John murmurs again, looking around calmly as they descend. Lee does the numbers in his head, double-checking, and then releases the last of his ballast. That leaves the control of the gas valve. He lashes it around a cleat to keep it open, ordering John to hang onto the suspension ring. Lee's hand gropes around one of the ropes.

The gasbag deflates, unsteady, rocking them before Lee's balloon finds its way onto a stretch of field.

 _"Yoooo-hooooo!"_ Lee hollers, his face breaking into a childishly wide grin. "We made it! I think we earned ourselves a celebration!" He rummages for a flask of whiskey, uncapping it and swallowing a mouthful, hoisting his arm victoriously into the air.

John doesn't say anything, nodding slightly to his osprey daemon who soars over them.

Lee burps into a fist, capping his flask and heading over for his instruments. Everything seems to be in order. Now to get down and hide as much of the balloon as possible in case it's needed again. They're already made it through the god-damn anomaly.

He hops out of the basket, witnessing the greyness on John from below.

Sweat shines to John's brow.

The shaman looks exhausted. Not for nothing, because Lee has heard of folks getting sickness while traveling through the air. Seen it himself once or twice. It cannot be easy to ride for hours on an aeronaut's balloon with no prior experience.

Anticipating him to be disorientated, Lee reaches out a hand.

"Easy," he breathes, feeling John's hand shakily grasp his. A concerned Lee helps him step down like the gentleman he was taught to be by his mother, taking some of John's weight. "Easy now. We just landed. I don't need you keelin' over."

John exhales, looking over Lee's tightened expression.

"Afraid I am feeling a bit under the weather."

Overhead, the storm rumbles. Lee gives a sardonic laugh while John's eyes crinkle.

"Very funny…"

Lee tugs on the still leaking gasbag, complaining under his breath about tying everything without a sledge and needing his rifle.

Hester hops down by Lee's feet.

"Lee?" she shouts, nearly laughing herself. "If you wanna do that, you'll have to let go of Jopari's hand."

It feels like moving in slow, heart-pounding motion.

He gazes down to their hands, for too long, but Lee can't find the command in his mind to do it. He knows he _should_. John's smudge-tattooed fingers are the ones to slip away first, leaving the impression of heat through the dark brown leather.

Lee feels his ears burn, stubbornly turning away to grumble and wiping his palm absently on his vest.

_"I was gedden' to it…"_

*

There might be wanderers in this place, even if Lee hasn't encountered them yet.

A new world means new uncertainties.

He packs up the more valuable things from the balloon once they've hidden it, including his instruments to fly, and stows them.

Lee fills up his knapsack, and then another knapsack with hardened rye bread and his cigarillo tin and a few empty waterskins. He whistles to Hester, hopping down from the basket and cupping a hand over his eyes in the sunlight to find their companion.

John stands off by himself, his osprey daemon perched on his forearm.

He brushes the tip of his nose affectionately to her feathers, nuzzling her and whispering to her as she whispers to him. John watches contently as she flies off, her great eagle wings beating. "I've asked Sayan Kötör to find us shelter. It shouldn't be long."

Lee flattens his lips together. He never did get an explanation on why John's daemon could go far away without him.

Ir's a little too much like witch behaviour.

The further they go past the vine-wrapped oaks and mangroves, plunging into the greenery, the more Lee suddenly finds himself comparing it to the Texan sagelands of his boyhood. He spend so much time in the low evergreen shrubs, dreaming alone with Hester, dreaming of flying away and never coming back. Taking his mother with him, and keeping on flying, and his father would _never_ _ever_ hurt Lee or Lee's mother again. Or Lee would kill him this time. If he had to.

A rush of wind.

Lee realises it's not wind at all, but Sayan Kötör swooping down and landing on a nearby boulder.

"Well, that was fast," Lee says in disbelief.

"Hello, Lee."

He whips around, startled by the familiar, silken-soft voice. Lee removes his hat, and Hester's gold-hazel eyes go round.

"Ma'am—"

"You're looking for Lyra, aren't you?" Serafina declares, her pretty mouth smiling. Lee could kiss her — he has never been more _reassured_ to see a witch in his life. "Very good," she adds, gesturing towards Lee with her fingertips. "Come. I'll show you to her."

Lee tips his head respectfully, and John does the same.

"That would be mighty appreciated."

*

Serafina leads them, walking through narrow, mossy rock and thickets of emerald leaves, until they've reached a clearing. One of Serafina's sister-witches strokes her fingers admiringly into Lyra's hair, half-listening to Lyra carry on about her journey.

"Lyra!" Lee yells, dropping his knapsacks. His pulse jumps into the back of his throat.

Relief mingles with despair and utter joy as Lyra spins around.

_"LEE!"_

They run, having no other instinct but to do so, and a quicker Lyra runs right to him. He throws up his arms to catch a teary-eyed Lyra, picking her up into a hug and off her feet. Pantalaimon, as a goldfinch, follows closely behind his human.

Lee mumbles Lyra's name, over and over, holding a kiss to the top of her head.

"You're tremblin' like a jackrabbit," he insists, dropping Lyra back onto her feet. "It's alright. Lemme look at ya."

There's flush on her cheeks. Lyra's expression looks heavier. _Older._

The idea terrifies him.

"I didn't think I would see you, Lee…"

Lee waits until she quiets her sniffles. "Nothin'…" he vows, cupping Lyra's face gently with his leather-gloved hands, "and I mean _nothin'_ _in any world_ could keep you from me…" Lee's thumb drags under her eye, wiping off the wetness. He would never be the father Lee had.

In a moment, Lee realises they have an audience.

More witches.

A tall but young boy with brown skin.

"… Who might you be?"

"This is Will," Lyra says breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder to a curious but solemnly reluctant Will, and Lee watches as she changes in front of his eyes. There's a light coming from within her. Dreamy-eyed and warm. "He's my friend."

_Oh dear…_

"How long have you two been travellin' together?"

Before Lyra can answer him, Will groans out in pain and sways on his feet. She pulls away from Lee, fear-stricken, and goes to Will. "Will is injured," Lyra mumbles, clutching onto Will's good arm. "But the witches are helping him. They're helping both of us."

 _Oh dear…_ well, Lee supposes if she trusts this boy… then they all are gonna have to.

"This here is Mister Jopari," Lee says as John approaches. "He's been a-helpin' us to find a magical object that was set on protectin' you—"

"And we seemed to have found it," John interrupts. He's wearing his hood, much to Lee's chagrin. His voice sounds ragged and not like himself from the cold air exposure. It's a deeper and raspier note. "On your hip, boy."

Lee's eyes fall to the knife slung on Will's hip, hidden in its sheath.

"I'll be damned," he mutters, scratching his nape. "You've been under the protection this whole time."

Lyra appears confused. Will only glares at the men, placing his hand over Æsahættr.

"Perhaps we should join the others," John murmurs.

Lee agrees, heading back to what must to be the witches' camp. It feels like something is coming together. He finds himself observing John and Will, noticing how sickly they seem. How they hunch over in the same manner, with their shoulders tensed down, and how they cradle a warm drink with milk and herbs. The same downwards tilt of their mouths.

_Oh no…_

Hester scoffs, plucking out the thought from Lee's mind.

"I ain't tellin' 'em," she announces, looking up at him with her whiskers twitching.

"Hester, I signed us to get flyin' North for gold and get shot at… anythin' particularly complicated about that? No, I d'not think so." Lee places his cigar wedged in pure smokeleaf on his lips, frowning and shaking his head. "Didn' think so at all."

She sighs.

*

The air smells like pine resin and humidity from the lingering storm.

Lee rubs his neck vigorously with a thin layer of jimsonweed to fight off the insects. He joins the other man on a log, sitting the opposite direction of where John stares out from under his hood. "You hankerin' for somethin'?" Lee holds out his rye sandwich.

John's brows furrow.

"A child should not be the Bearer," he rumbles.

"I used to say somethin' similar 'bout Lyra." Lee eagerly splits his rye sandwich in half. "She's too young to be gettin' mixed up in all of this. Especially a war." He passes one-half to John. "What d'you say your boy's name was, Mister Jopari?"

_"Will."_

John says his child's name so low and soft and full of emotion that Lee's heart skips.

"Right," Lee mumbles. "You see… ss'funny that you should, uh, mention that… I've been noticin' quite a few similarities between you and Lyra's friend down there…" He clears his throat, taking a big bite into his rye and ham. "Somethin' to consider…"

"What are you insisting, Mr. Scoresby?" John says neutrally.

Lee gives him a sour look, chewing.

He swallows.

"Mister Jopari… please juss' look at the boy for a minute… one minute… and you'll see what I mean. I'm certain of that. Use your shaman magic or whatever you gotta do to look." Lee half-turns on the log, staring with John. "Tell me what you see."

Down the hill, Lyra sits cross-legged with a white rabbit Pantalaimon, petting his fur. She murmurs secretively to Will, pointing to the witches, cupping his ear and whispering again so no-one could read her lips. Will's face brightens with a smile. It's a smile of one with a kind and brave heart. One who has been suffered, and one who still found a reason to love with all their being.

John's eyes water.

He murmurs Elaine's name.

Lee grasps his shoulder, beaming. "You couldn' find a window to your boy… so he found one that led to you. You should be proud."

"He has a duty," John acknowledges, and the words bleed hot in his throat. "I would serve as a distraction from it."

"Oh. Oh, now, I know _mm'not_ hearin' you right." Lee tries to dig finger in his ear. He blinks. "I know you're not entertain' the idea of not tellin' your boy who you are. He _found_ you. All of these years being apart from him and it can be over."

"Are you so certain that he would want me here? Do you know his character? Do you know his heart?"

"I know Lyra's heart," Lee says firmly. "She trusts him. That means whatever's good for him is what's good for Lyra, and it's sure as hell good enough for me." He resists the urge to curl his lip at John. "Your boy deserves to know. That's it."

Hester, at Lee's feet, stares with narrowed animal eyes at Sayan Kötör who laughs. A beautiful trill.

John relaxes, pulling apart a little of his sandwich.

"For someone who isn't a father… you know an awful lot…"

Lee stares fondly at Lyra, alive and tenderhearted, in the distance. For certain, she's getting older. Maybe they all are.

"I do know some things," he mumbles, grinning. Lee uncaps the bourbon whiskey in his flask, swigging and swallowing so hard it makes his ears pop when one of John's tattooed hands grasps lightly on his thigh. Oh, _oh_. Lee stares, his ears burning red.

John nods under the hood.

"Thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Scoresby."

He climbs to his feet. When John is far enough away, Lee leans forward and groans into his hands covering his mouth.

A _married_ man?

Why?

*

"Stop thinkin' about it, Lee…"

Hester's fur ruffles in the chill night air. She hops alongside him as Lee wanders with his naphtha lantern.

"Mm'not," Lee grumbles.

He knows it's as much a lie as claiming to have studied a whole copy of _The Elements of Aerial Navigation_.

(It was _half_ a copy.)

"We gotta stay focused…"

"It was my _thigh_ , Hester!" Lee bemoans. "Y'know I'm sensitive there!"

"Lee, we are not having this conversation…"

A scream tears through the darkness. High and hovering through the rock narrow-ways.

"Lyra!" Lee hollers.

He huffs back towards the witches' camp. Lee discovers Lyra screaming out Will's name, clutching onto him in the dirt and shaking him. He's unconscious, bleeding from his right hand. Everyone else comes running to see what's happened.

Lee snatches onto a near-hysterical Lyra, feeling her struggle, as John tends to Will along with Serafina.

An ugly and heart-wrenching sob escapes Lyra's mouth.

He holds her close, shushing Lyra, trying to get her to breathe and settle. Lee isn't sure where Pantalaimon has gone. Lyra's daemon probably has shrunk into one of her pockets. Lee talks to her, encourages her, allowing Lyra to shudder against him.

Will's bandages gleam with fresh, dark blood escaping.

"Open your eyes," John commands softly, grasping the side of Will's head on the mossy ground and turning him. He feels like searing hot coals to the touch. Will's eyelids flutter. "There's a good lad—that's it. Open your eyes. I know you can hear me."

_"Lyra…"_

Will's dried, bruised lips separate.

"He'll be alright," John tells Lee, and it's the most serious Lee has ever heard him.

John's arms go under Will, hoisting him up and cradling Will to him.

Lyra struggles to walk out of Lee's arms, to follow, as John carries Will off. She's grey as cliff-ghasts in the moonlight.

Her chest heaves noiselessly.

"Lyra, Lyra-gal," Lee says urgently, kneeling down and having her look into his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes…"

It's sullen from her, but sincere.

"Then I need you to trust Mister Jopari. I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours and I trust him with Will's life." Lee offers a smile, thumbing the dampness from Lyra's flushed-red cheeks. "He ain't gonna anything happen to that boy, Lyra. Neither will I."

All they can do is wait.

*

Sayan Kötör returns with John's pack, tipping her little eagle head.

 _"You can smell the fever,"_ she rasps, and her voice soothes the turmoil in John's mind. _"He needs rest."_

"Soon," John promises her.

First, the wound's infection must be dealt with. He seats Will down by another fire John builds and lights, rousing him, having him take sips of water from a goatskin flask slowly. Will nibbles on the handful of powerful herbal berries given by the witches.

"What are you doing so far from your world?"

It's a question pestering John, and Will only keeps his head low and shrugs. Elaine would do the same when not feeling well.

"I'm trying to find my dad…"

"Do you have a mother?" John asks dully.

"I left her with someone…"

"Is she safe?"

"Think so…"

John nods, thinning his lips and looking away to rustle through his pack. "That's good to hear."

Will's expression hardens.

"Why does my mum matter _to you?"_

"If it matters to you, then it matters to me." John opens his bloodmoss ointment container, smearing his hand. "This will hurt," he explains quietly. "Be still." Will hisses through his teeth, trembling all-over when John's fingers massage the cooling salve over Will's.

Despite the intense pain, Will doesn't yank away or curse him. He sucks air through his nose loudly, gulping.

John's heart clenches.

"Were you happy… when you were growing up?"

"Dunno," Will admits. His colour improves. "I had Mum. I looked after her. Sometimes… sometimes I would dream about finding my dad and rescuing him. We would go on adventures together… then I would wake up and realise it was only a dream."

John touches Will's forehead, sensing his fever lessening.

Will lets him, eyeing over his hooded appearance.

"I overheard you and Mr. Scoresby talking about your son… what's he like?"

John's heart gives another drowsy clench.

"I hadn't seen him since he was a baby," he confesses. John drops his hand ruefully, and Will's eyebrows furrow. "What I do know is he has an important task ahead of him. One that is destined to save us all. I could not be more proud of him."

What remains of inflamed, bloody stumps curl in.

"I look at him and I can see his mother's resilience and her bravery." John's dark eyes fill with unshed tears, the corners of his mouth stretching into a lopsided grin. "Her smile was the thing I've always missed the most when I was gone."

"Dad," Will murmurs, starting to cry.

"You are so much like her."

John removes his hood and Will breaks down upon seeing Colonel John Parry's face — a face Will's only known through video interviews and photos — his own face streaking with tears and snot. "Dad," he repeats, locking his arms around John's neck and practically hanging onto him like a toddler again. John held every memory of Will, fought to keep them clear and bright.

"Will," John chokes out, pressing his mouth to Will's ear. "Will. Oh, Will. Forgive me."

Not far off, Lyra buries her face into Lee's side as he embraces her back with one arm. She tries to keep her own tears at bay. "It's been a long evening, Lyra." Lee tells her, rubbing her shoulder consolingly. "How about we get some shut-eye?"

*

Lee wakes up to his tent empty.

"She's outside," Hester informs him, her ears twitching in interest. "Serafina wants to talk to Lyra and Will alone."

"Mhmm," Lee hums, dragging himself out of the bedroll. Before falling asleep, a delighted Lyra went on and on about losing and stealing back with her golden compass, about meeting Mary Malone and talking to Dust, and about Iorek's fight.

He yawns, pushing aside the tent-flap. His eye catch a stew pot. Lee wanders over, peeking into it and waving out the smoke.

"Good morning."

Lee nearly chatters the stew lid onto the ground, jumping a little. _"DAMN!"_ he mutters, glimpsing John's little smirk. He's still wearing his tatters. The steel rings over black smudge-tattooed fingers. John's hair in the messy top-knot. "I would say g'morning, but that would be a bold lie right there. Didn'n nobody teach you to not startle a man with his mornin' stew?"

"I've come to speak to you for a moment. We have had quite the journey together."

Lee eyes the gratitude in John's expression with weariness.

"Mr. Scoresby, you have been—"

"As far as I'm concerned, Mister Jopari," Lee interrupts, glancing down at the stew pot and picking up a wooden spoon one of Serafina's sister-witches carved, "you fulfilled your oath to me. Lyra is under the protection of that knife and Will. Ss'all I wanted." He snorts. "You gettin' reunited with your boy… well, maybe that's just some of your ole shaman magic at work."

John's smirk widens.

"Very funny."

Lee gives him a haughty look, stirring with the wooden spoon and then stops. He peers to Will and Lyra returning from the clearing's end, their hands brushing. Will's uninjured fingers and Lyra's right hand entwining purposefully. Their heads bowed. Will says something to her, admiring her as Lyra bursts out giggling and smiling and clutching onto his hand to herself. Her dark eyes sparkle.

_"They're gun'na break each other's heart…"_

The observation leaves his lips before Lee can hope to contain it.

"It'll be worth it, Mr. Scoresby," John reassures him, nodding. "As all things born of love are."

*


End file.
